


Plus One

by mayle



Series: Then There Were Six [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayle/pseuds/mayle
Summary: Geoff Ramsey, a notorious gang leader, accidentally spots the perfect new member for Fake AH. Naked, trapped, and brainwashed but not totally gone, Michael is rescued. His life starts on a journey that happens so fast he can barely keep up with his own feet.





	1. Chapter 1

The boy in the muzzle was glaring defiantly at Geoff with a fire he’d rarely seen before. Despite the contraption on his head, despite his kneeling position, and despite his nakedness, he looked at Geoff with a hard expression, daring him to talk shit. His eyes dared Geoff to try something, to say something, to give him a reason to leap towards him and tear his throat out. 

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed the dog,” the gang leader commented, “A boy who couldn’t listen.”

He yanked the heavy chain attached to a thick collar around the boy’s throat. The boy straightened up, almost forced by the tug around his neck, still on his knees but now rigidly vertical displaying his cock for them. His hands fluttered, as though he wanted to cover himself, but then squeezed into fists at his side. The anger he had shown Geoff paled at the anger he turned on the other man. Geoff looked at the boy. He was pretty, even with the ugly trap on his head and the bruises and cuts littering his body. Even with the menacing glare he was showing, he was pretty. The gang leader seemed pleased by Geoff’s appraisal of the boy, as though the kid was a trophy wife. 

“Vagabond?” Geoff called softly.

“Yes, sir.”

He was answering the question Geoff hadn’t asked: can you take this man and all the guards in the room? Geoff paused a moment, trying to decide. The tentative partnership they were debating with this man was more in an effort to squash their competition. They already didn’t like the slime, they even spoke about betraying him later. But...they hadn’t planned an upheaval this quickly. The shaky alliance hadn’t even been formed, let alone been around long enough to form trust with him. This was not according to plan. Jack wasn’t going to like it. He drank down the last of the scotch and shook his head.

“I believe our partnership will not be happening,” he said calmly.

The taste of the terrible scotch on his tongue drew a sneer to his face.

“Vagabond,” he commanded.

Vagabond was a large man, but he was also quick. As Geoff pulled free the handgun he’d tucked in his jacket, he could hear the assassin laying out the guards. As the slime dove for his own gun, Geoff pointed his at his face. He tsked and shook his head. 

“Best you don’t move, buddy,” he said, calm and quiet, “Drop the chain.”

“What??” The man demanded, “Because of the dog??”

His face twisted in anger and disbelief. 

“I could have given him to you!” He growled, “All this over a piece of ass??”

Geoff’s face relaxed as he gave the man a dead-eyed stare.

“He isn’t a possession,” he stated, his words clear and dangerous, “Drop the chain. I will not ask again.”

The man swallowed, seeming to get an idea of how serious Geoff was. He dropped the chain, which thudded heavily to the floor. The boy visibly flinched, his eyes clouded with confusion. 

“Stand up,” Geoff instructed.

The gang leader hesitated, but as Vagabond rejoined them, obeyed. 

“Strip.”

The man frowned at him, anger and defiance rising in his face. Before he could protest, Vagabond stepped forward. He seemed to get the unspoken threat and shakily removed his clothes. His eyes were weak, terrified. He was a cornered rodent with no resolve, no backbone, and no fire. The opposite of the boy he’d chained and muzzled.

“You,” Geoff directed at the boy, “Dress.”

Though confused, the kid took the clothes from the pile at his so called masters feet and pulled them on. He was shaking as well, struggling with his skinny frame and top heavy body. 

“Vagabond.”

The assassin stepped to the boy to help, who flinched and swayed away, but didn’t move. Resolve, Geoff thought, fire. Vagabond, cool and collected as ever, began to dress the boy with no issues. Sure the boy was properly covered, Geoff squeezed the trigger and killed the slime.

“Well, then,” he muttered, standing, “Let’s get moving.”

He put his gun away, leaving Ryan to deal with the boy and quickly started for the door. They passed an ashen faced secretary who looked frozen as they came by. Geoff shot her a wink and waved.

“Mr. Grayson won’t be taking any more meetings,” he informed, a wicked grin on his face, “Better call back up before they get suspicious.”

She blinked at him, trying to process what he said, but he just kept his stride up as he hurried to the elevator. He let Ryan and the boy through before stepping in and pressing the ground floor button. He checked his watch and winced. Jack would not be happy. He pulled free his phone and gave her a ring. She insulted him almost before the call fully connected.

“Change of plans,” he muttered, a bit sheepish, “We’ll be needing a ride.”

As Jack told him off he sighed heavily and turned to the other two, who looked to be the oddest pair he’d ever seen.

“Ry, can you get it off?” He questioned.

Ryan shrugged and took a look, roughly turning the kid’s head around to check. The kid seemed completely unfazed, but as Ryan drew out a pair of cutters, he backed away. He put his hands up and shook his head frantically. Ryan growled, stepping forward anyway. He shook his head again and pointed at the thing.

“What is it?” Geoff questioned tiredly.

The kid looked frustrated and pointed at the thing. Then to the cutters and then pressed a finger through the trap to touch his head. Finally, he smashed his hands together and Geoff understood.

“If we tamper, it’ll crush your head,” he muttered, “Jesus fucking Christ. Can you remove the chain at least?”

The boy nodded and let Ryan advance with the cutters. Geoff turned back to the door, Jack’s annoyance still drifting through the phone. The chain dropped with an awful thunk sound as the elevator beeped and opened. On the other side stood at least ten armed men, guns pointed at them. Geoff gave them a wide grin as a black car appeared from around the corner. 

“Smash and grab,” Jack muttered through the phone as she careened towards the conveniently glass front of the building.

“Sorry boys, this elevator’s full,” Geoff laughed.

He punched the close door button just as the familiar red head crashed into the glass. The door closed as the men were distracted and Geoff could help the wild grin on his face as the sounds of car being rammed against the elevators doorframe rocked them. The sound of quick gunfire signaled Jack finishing off the last of them and the elevator dinged once again.

“Well, then!” Jack shouted as soon as the door began to open, “What’s all this??”

Geoff gave her a sheepish shrug, smiled softly, and turned to reveal the boy who was clutching Ryan’s arm to keep himself steady. He looked like he might go into shock by the turn of events, but Geoff could tell he was gonna be fine. Jack let out an annoyed grunt and rolled her eyes.

“You can’t take in every lost puppy, Geoff,” she snorted. 

The boy flinched and Geoff recalled the other man’s name for him. Jack seemed concerned and confused, but he threw her the “we’ll talk later” look and she nodded.

“Well, Ry’s bike is outside,” she said, stepping around the totaled car, “And I spied a sporty car that seemed to be Mr. Slime’s. Shall we go before back up gets here?”

“Head starts are nice,” Geoff agreed, “Give him a gun.”

He hopped over the car leaving Ryan to once again deal with the boy. He made for the car out front as the other three hurried after him. Ryan went straight for his bike, Jack for the driver’s side, and Geoff for the passenger’s. The boy, however, stopped in his tracks, staring at the car. His eyes were unfocusing and Geoff winced as he thought of what may have taken place in it. Luckily, impatient and silent as ever, Ryan dragged the boy to his bike and they hopped on. The gun Jack had given him was tight in his grip and he shook himself back awake. Geoff watched as Ryan zipped away, the boy stiff, but he flashed his dangerous eyes at Geoff and nodded. Geoff felt a puff of relief exhaling from his heart and his mouth as they followed after. The kid would be fine.


	2. Chapter 2

“Understood.”

Michael nearly jumped, started by Vagabond’s voice. He’d barely spoken two words during the entire fiasco and he’d almost forgotten that he’d spoken those. He glanced from the corner of his eye as the man let out a frustrated sigh. He’d put his phone away already and ripped his mask off. Michael wasn’t surprised by the paint on his face, he’d heard a lot about the man, but he was surprised by the face. Weirdly, it wasn’t what he expected. It seemed softer, sort of...normal. The paint certainly made the face less so, but still, he felt shaken that the face beneath it didn’t look anything like a skull.

The man let out a frustrated growl and slammed his fist against the brick wall. Michael flinched horribly, shying away even though he was several feet away already. Vagabond turned his scowl on him and narrowed his eyes. Michael’s knees nearly dropped just at the intensity of the other man’s glare. His new found instincts screamed that he should submit, but he wobbled away instead. Master was dead, that meant he didn’t have to submit any more. It was hard though, Vagabond terrified him as much as...he flinched, his brain shutting down. He leaned heavily on the wall and tried to breathe. 

“You, on, now,” Vagabond growled at him, sliding onto his bike, “We’re going to a safe house.”

Michael blinked at the sentence. He wasn’t aware Vagabond could even do sentences. He carefully got back on the bike, ignoring the shaking in his hands. His knees squeezed against the other man as they zipped out of the alley. His head went foggy, relaxing in the wind. He wished he could rip the infernal contraption from it to feel the wind fully, but the reminder of someone’s head being crushed made him shiver. He instinctively pressed tighter to Vagabond who was stiff and radiating “fuck off” vibes. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away, feeling vulnerable on the bike. Instead he just looked around them. His eyes darted about, looking for threats, but he saw none. Vagabond appeared to know all the right routes to avoid people and Michael felt a little less tense knowing barely anyone could see him.   
~~~  
As they pulled off the main road, Michael’s anxiety grew. More twists and turns in the roads went straight to his gut as he realized just how far from people they were. He was being murdered, wasn’t he? Why would they take him this far though? His reason was kicking in and he tried to listen. Why would they go to the trouble of rescuing him just to kill him? Maybe they...he ducked his head as he recalled the leaders eyes on him. The leader had found him attractive, but...they weren’t hungry eyes. They were sympathetic, pitying almost, a fact that Michael hated then and now. 

Vagabond, however, he couldn’t read at the time. Because of the mask maybe, or maybe the fact the man seemed to have two modes: deadened and angry. He seemed particularly ruthless as he’d murdered the guards, something that had unnerved Michael. But when he helped him dress, he hadn’t gotten any read on him either. His gaze didn’t seem to linger, his hands weren’t rough or soft, just precise and efficient. In most regards he seemed angry or completely indifferent. When the elevator doors had opened that first time, though...

Michael was cut off from his anxious train of thought by their speed rapidly decreasing. He peeked around the man to see nothing but trees. He was going to die, wasn’t he? There was no safe house. Just woods. He was going to die.

He was scared, he knew that and could admit to himself that he was. His hands shook and his heart thundered in his chest. He was going to die. He didn’t really want to die. In one sense, he sort of did. He was ready to be free of his pain, but he’d kinda hoped he’d be able to take out a building with him. He hoped he’d get to fire a gun more, laugh again, get angry, fall in love maybe. He lamented that so much of his life was clouded by the stupid thing on his head, by his master, by...he shivered again, his brain clamping down before thinking the title. 

He felt dizzy and blurry as the bike stopped. What were they doing again? He wondered vaguely. Where were they? He asked himself, but didn’t care enough to find the answer. The sound of snapping fingers woke him up suddenly. He blinked up at Vagabond who was giving him another scowl. Right, he was dying. He glanced away, but his anxiety stopped before it could start again. It was a house.

A big house, he thought as he slid off the bike. He stared up at it in wonder, surprised by just how big it was. Several floors, at least. It was odd though, he thought. Seemed much more extravagant than any other safe house he’d been to before. Though the windows appeared to be boarded up, so maybe it was just an available old house that had a good price. Vagabond had put his bike away and closed the garage. He gave Michael a blank stare and started for the door. Michael stepped to follow him but winced as his foot landed on gravel. A strangled yelp sounded somewhere in his throat and he choked around it as he glared down at his foot.

Bare foot. Right. He’d forgotten he hadn’t had time to put on masters shoes before the new leader had shot him through the eye. He’d forgotten the glass he’d stepped on on their way out as well. Now that he could think, pain pulsed upwards from the bottom of his feet and he shuddered. Whatever, just get inside he thought. Suddenly Vagabond was there, towering over him with a scowl. Michael bowed his head sheepishly and lifted his foot to show why his progress was slow going. 

“I’m picking you up,” Vagabond grumbled, “Be still.”

Michael barely had a second to hear the words before the large man had swept him up into his arms and carried him to the door. Michael’s brain struggled to keep up as the man stopped. The door made a sound and Michael jumped, looking at it startled. 

“Name,” the door droned in a robot voice.

“Vagabond.”

Michael whipped back to look at the man who’d answered. He was glaring at the door, but turned his heated gaze on Michael. He had gripped Vagabond’s leather jacket without thinking and quickly let go with shaking hands. He spread his hands, trying to say “sorry” with the gesture of surrender. 

“Access granted.”

The door startled Michael again and he did his best not to jump this time.

“Welcome, Ry-“

“Shut up!” Vagabond growled, “Open.”

The door swung open and Michael had a brief wild thought that perhaps the physical door obeyed out of fear rather than the intelligence that operated it. Vagabond walked through hurriedly and Michael was distracted by the sweeping ceiling of the room they stepped in. He stared at the chandelier, shocked that such a beautiful, delicate thing hung from the safe house of one of the most notorious gangs. Vagabond was silent as he carried Michael through a doorway. This was some sort of living room, Michael thought, noting the armchairs, couches, and the colossal tv. Vagabond laid him on one of the couches, again neither rough nor gentle, just placing him. 

“Wait,” he muttered, before disappearing through the doorway.

Michael vaguely registered the command, but hadn’t really thought of moving anyway. His feet hurt and he was exhausted. He wanted to sink into the couch and fall asleep, but the trap on his head prevented him. He needed it off his head before he could really relax. He’d barely scrounged two of the tools he’d needed in the...how long had it been? He couldn’t remember. Time never reached him there. His time keeping from the beginning had been discovered and he’d been punished. He had no idea how long it’d been. What month was it? What year? His head buzzed, his skull itching. It didn’t matter, he knew, but still it bothered him. How old was he? How many New Years kisses had he lost? Had it been years, decades?? 

“Wake up.”

Vagabond’s rough voice shook him from his thoughts. His hand was shaking his ankle, trying to rouse him. He was holding something, a white box. First aid? Michael wondered dazedly. He looked at Vagabond and was startled by the blue eyes staring back. Had they been blue the whole time?

“Wake up!” Vagabond barked more firmly.

Michael blinked heavily and focused. Awake.

“I’m going to bandage your feet.”

He sat on the couch and turned, pulling Michael’s feet into his lap. Michael flinched when Vagabond’s rough hand touched his bare skin once again. Remembering the damage, his feet throbbed and he let out a grunt of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands against his stomach. Remain calm, he told himself. Moving will upset him and disrupt the first aid. 

He shuddered as something cold touched his feet, but he kept as still as he could. The wounds stung as Vagabond cleaned them, but Michael tried to remain stiff. His breathing was a bit ragged as Vagabond worked and he could feel sweat on his forehead. He jerked suddenly as hot pain spiked through his foot at one particular prodding. 

He felt something, it wasn’t just a cut, it had something in it. He pried his eyes open and he looked to see if Vagabond had noticed it. He was scowling at Michael’s foot as if looking for the source of Michael’s outburst. He started to lean down to look closer and Michael waved his hands, whimpering. Vagabond’s face turned up and Michael made a normally obscene gesture, begging the other man to understand. At first Vagabond seemed frustrated and angry, but realization cleared his eyes a bit and he nodded understanding. 

Michael shook as Vagabond retrieved tweezers, wiping them with alcohol. Vagabond spared him a frustrated glance before he clamped down on his ankle and began his digging. Michael felt cold yet sweaty. He huffed and grunted with pain, eyes watering at the pain shooting out from his foot. It was deep, how had it taken so long for him to notice? He was clutching the couch for dear life, choking sobs bubbling in his throat. The metal on his face provided no help in releasing them and the frustration he felt poured from his eyes. Eventually he felt something wiggle free of his skin. But he could feel it wasn’t everything and his vision went white.


	3. Chapter 3

As Michael blinked awake, he felt the bandaging on his feet, but also the pain there. He shivered, feeling cold all over. He knew he was imagining it, but he felt like he could feel a hole where the glass or whatever had been in his foot. Like his flesh had now permanently moved and he could feel the empty spot. He shuddered, wanting to curl up and hide.

“Yes, it’s completely deactivated.”

_Vagabond?_ He was speaking, Michael realized, where?

“It was mostly damaged by the glass, but I made sure.”

His deep voice was drifting over the back of the couch. Michael gazed at the back of the couch, but couldn’t see over it.

“Yes, sir...when are you coming to get him?”

His voice seemed almost gentle. Michael frowned.

“Understood.”

This time, it was tense again, angry. There was a long pause, where Michael almost felt relieved that it was back to the usual with the man.

“No word on the trap? Did Jack find a creator yet?”

Michael shook at the line of questioning, shrinking into the couch.

“I see...what is it?...Michael?”

He felt his guts tighten at the sound of his own name. Michael, _Michael_ was his name. Right, his name wasn’t dog or bitch, it was Michael. How long ago had he forgotten his name? He shook harder, he was freezing, he hurt, his insides were ice. He let out a pathetic whimper as he stared at his shaking hands. How long had it been? How many days, how many nights, how many _times_ had it taken? How quickly had he forgotten?? His eyes were burning, his feet throbbed, his stomach churned. He shook so violently he thought he was having a seizure. A face floated in his vision, but his eyes rolled back and he drifted away, losing control.

His vision and his consciousness wavered back and forth for some time before the shaking stopped. When he was finally awake enough, he noticed he was on the couch still and Vagabond was glaring at him.

“Awake?”

The man’s voice was tight and hot. Michael shakily nodded, though he jerked oddly as he did.

“How do I get the thing off your head?” He demanded.

Michael felt weak and cold. He pointed at himself urgently.

“You can do it,” Vagabond confirmed his understanding, “What do you need?”

Michael struggled for a moment, his hands faltering in midair. How could he possibly pantomime everything he needed? Vagabond stood abruptly and whisked away, causing Michael to flinch and realize he’d been sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. He returned and pushed a pad of paper and a pen into Michael’s hands. Michael struggled trying to sit up. Vagabond held out his hands for support and Michael gripped his forearm as he shifted. He was quick to drop his hand, worried that Vagabond would get angry if he held on too long.

He stared at the paper and rolled the pen in his fingers. When...when had he last used a pen? He tried to focus, but found the urge to write his own name take him over. His fingers trembled and tingled as he wrote it out. _Michael_. He wrote it again. _Michael_. He sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He wrote it again and again and again until there was no more room. He blinked at the ink covering the page. Right, tools. He flipped the page away, his face flushed red in embarrassment.

He handed over the pad as he finished and Vagabond was quick to rush off. Michael stared at the pen in his hand and got the urge to write his name again. Lacking paper, he turned to his other hand and started writing. _Michael. Michael. Michael._ His hand was covered by the time Vagabond rejoined him.


	4. Chapter 4

Michael’s hand was steady as he twisted the tiny screw out of place. His mind blanked on everything but the removal as he worked over the trap. The mirror he stared into reflected the mirror Vagabond held behind him, which reflected the back of his head. Point 8, Michael thought, switching his tool for another. Point 9, he thought, pushing the Alan wrench between the metal parts. He carefully, gently twisted, the hidden bolt loosening. As the bolt became loose he stopped, pulled free the wrench and wiggled his fingers in to grasp it.

He closed his eyes tightly and reached, but his knuckles stopped his progress. He frowned, wiggling his fingers, but he couldn’t reach it. His eyes opened and he looked to his pale face. Pliers? Maybe if they weren’t too big. Tweezers? Not strong enough to grip the bolt. Magnetic? No, the thing would snap at the first touch. He froze as he frantically came up with wilder ideas. Worst of all, he couldn’t move. If he jarred the trap in just the wrong way, the thing would snap.

_Snap, snap, snap! _

He recalled the picture of someone’s head being crushed and trembled.

“What is it?” Vagabond demanded.

Michael took a shaky breath. The assassin had to help him, that was the only way. There was a reason why the thing depended so greatly on reaching the bolt in a careful manner. It wasn’t just the escape route, it was also the kill switch. Michael gingerly brushed his fingers across Vagabond’s closest hand. The man still scowled, but he put it where Michael directed. Michael made the obscene gesture again and Vagabond paused. Michael shivered as he watched the other man push his fingers through the window. Michael closed his eyes again. Vagabond was touching the bolt now. How had he let this happen? He wondered vaguely. He’d tried so hard to make the escape route properly..._h-how long ago was it? Had he changed so much?_

”Michael?” Vagabond prompted.

Michael took a shaky breath and made a pulling motion, hardly able to keep still with his anxiety curling through his ribs, thudding against his chest. Vagabond seemed to understand the importance of the timing, as he counted down before he pulled. As it came free, Michael flipped the little tool he’d stuck in the trap and yanked the contraption from his head. It snapped in his hands and he jumped horribly, shooting out of his chair and dropping the thing on the floor. He bumped into Vagabond who dropped the mirror. His arms went under Michael’s armpits, holding him up. Michael shook and pressed his fingers to his raw face. 

“Who would make something like that?” Vagabond wondered gruffly. 

“Me,” Michael croaked, “I made it.”

And for the third time he lost consciousness, slumping against the other man.  
~~~  
Michael awoke with a groan, shifting against the soft bed beneath him. He relaxed into the sheets, but then shot up and off. Soft beds meant pain, he thought as pain shot up from his feet. He yelped loudly and sank to his knees, gripping at his feet. Feet? Feet? He wondered. His brain sluggishly tried to remind him where he was. Three quick, loud bangs sounded against the door and Vagabond stepped through, reminding Michael quite suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” The man grumbled, “Why did you scream?”

Michael’s face was red. Was the yelp a scream?

“I, Uh, j-just stepped.”

Michael’s voice sounded weird to him. Rusty, wheezy. _How long?_ He looked away from the other man.

“What’s the date?” He whispered, refusing to look at him.

“May 13th.”

A shock went through Michael’s body and he shook against the bed where he buried his face, gripping the sheet fiercely.

“...what year?” He groaned.

”You don’t-“

”What year?!” Michael rasped, his voice barely escaping his raw throat.

“2021.”

Michael shook horribly as sobs suddenly took hold. Vagabond stomped over and crouched down.

“Are you having a panic attack again?”

Michael let out a feral sort of cry into the blanket.

“Th-th-three!” He shrieked, “Th-three!”

“I don’t understand,” Vagabond mumbled, “Three what?”

Michael’s pale, tear-soaked face turned to him and he didn’t understand what feeling was on the painted man’s face.

“Three years!” He sobbed, “Three years!”

Vagabond blinked at him and Michael let out another cry.

“G-g-get out!” He screamed, “Get a-w-way! G-get out!”

He pushed weakly at the man’s chest, but he was too weak to even shift the other man. This only added to his distress and he collapsed against him, sending him backwards. Michael shoved his face into Vagabond’s chest and screamed. Vagabond sat stiffly as Michael soaked his shirt, remaining completely still as the boy cried. And again, Michael’s vision faded. He felt dizzy, weak, dying.

“Am I dying?” He wondered weakly, “I’m dying.”

Vagabond was talking, he thought but he couldn’t hear him. His ears weren’t working. His tongue was thick, his throat tight. He couldn’t see either. Everything was white. 

“I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.”

He couldn’t hear his own hoarse whispers. He was dying.

~~~

After not nearly enough rest, he woke again in a soft bed. Pain, he thought, but he was too weak to move. Things were stuck to him, he realized. Tape, wire, tube. He was being drugged again. No wonder his arms wouldn’t move. What was today’s game? He wondered. His mind slogged through his memory. Not with master..._where?_ He opened his eyes, not even realizing they were closed. He looked at the tube in his arm, following it to the bag hanging nearby. _Saline? Not drugs._ He looked to the clamp on his finger. Heart rate monitor. Then he looked at the hot gaze directed at him.

“Are you awake?” The man demanded.

“I’m dead,” he answered quietly, surprising and confusing himself.

“Stop saying that!” Vagabond snapped, “You’re not dead! You’re severely dehydrated and starving. Not dead.”

“Not dead,” Michael repeated, “Okay.”

Vagabond still looked quite angry, but didn’t comment. He pointed to a plate on the table next to Michael.

“Eat when you can.”

He left the room, slamming the door behind him, giving Michael a startle. He was awake now, but still very tired. He weakly reached for the plate and found an assortment of liquid-like foods. Mashed potatoes, jello, yogurt. He struggled to lift the spoon, but he did his best to eat the food. It was slow going and he was exhausted by the end, but he finished the mashed foods, feeling like a child. He put the plate back where it had been and fell to his pillow, easily falling asleep. He wondered as he drifted off if he could ever sleep enough to quit being tired.


	5. Chapter 5

Michael woke up with an aching stomach and a full bladder. He hadn’t been to a bathroom in some time. He sat up, rubbing the daze from his eyes. Next to the bed was a chair laden with folded clothes, a towel, and various toiletries with a notecard folded as the cherry on top. An arrow was the only thing on the card, pointing towards a door Michael hadn’t noticed. He limped to it, dragging along the cart that was attached to him. He realized he had stitches where Vagabond had pulled out what was in his foot as he could feel them straining with every step. His feet felt better though, after getting some rest the pain was more of an ache now.

After finishing his business and washing his hands, Michael ambled back to the bed and sat with a tired sigh. He looked down at the masters baggy clothes and sighed. It was bizarre wearing his clothes. Like a kid wearing his father’s boots, he felt awkward and the clothes were obviously too big.

Well, he needed to shower anyway, so he needed to get them off. First however, he pulled the needle from his arm and the clamp from his finger. The machine beeped and powered down now that no one’s heart beat could be detected. He stared at the blank screen for a moment. _No heart beat. Dead._ He shrugged and began clumsily wiggling his way out of the clothes, more than ready to be free of them.

He did feel some amount of comfort in having the clothes. It reminded him master was dead and he didn’t need to be scared of him. Though there were others, far scarier than him that were left. Michael’s heart thudded hard against his chest, thinking about it. He dropped the last of masters clothes from his body and looked at them, conflicted. How was he supposed to feel, he wondered. As he reached to gather up the toiletries and such, there was a familiar banging on the door.

_Bang, bang, bang! _

Three, Michael thought, dizzy as he remembered what else had been three. Unfocused and shaking, he couldn’t hear what was being said. A hand touched his shoulder and he dropped to his knees. He began unfastening the belt at his eye level, his body going on autopilot. His hands were seized tightly and he winced. _Too slow?_ He wondered vaguely, his head lolling to the side.

“Michael?!”

The sound of his name snapped him out of his trance and he looked up to see it was not his master before him. Vagabond, looking pissed as always, was waving a hand in front of his face. Michael blinked at him. Was this not what he wanted? He wondered tiredly. If it wasn’t, then what did he want? Vagabond’s scowl made him shiver and wrap his arms around himself.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Michael mumbled, bowing his head, “What do you want me to do?”

Vagabond groaned and sighed loudly. Michael chanced a peek to watch the man, hoping to get an idea of what the man was after. He rubbed at his face, accidentally smearing the paint. There was no telling what the emotion he was feeling was.

“Take a shower, get some rest,” he finally grunted out, sounding tired, “You’re free to explore the house, just try not to break anything. Kitchen’s on the first floor.”

As Michael caught up with the words, Vagabond whisked away, leaving him naked and kneeling on the floor. He shivered again and squeezed his arms tighter around him. His brain was too foggy to understand what was happening.

Was Vagabond his new master? Or was he his new...teacher? A shock went up Michael’s spine as he thought the title and he jolted. _That would make sense,_ he thought miserably, he did ask someone on the phone when they were coming to pick him up. He supposed then that this was training again, perhaps to learn new rules or break others. It seemed logical according to Michael’s new twisted up brain, so he stood to take a shower.

Given free reign of the house gave Michael the tiniest grain of hope that he wouldn’t be as bad as the old one. He set his jaw and took his shower. If he was good, then maybe he’d be okay. When had he become like this? Did it matter? He sighed as water washed over him. Whatever, he was this now, this was his role.


	6. Chapter 6

Michael pressed his hand against the bed and a giggle burst from his throat as the bed wobbled. He didn’t even know people still had water beds. He pushed his hand up and down, laughing as the bed moved in waves. He jumped on it and rolled to the middle, delighted by the bed’s movements. He rolled back and forth, giggling as it moved around him. This was that manic thing, wasn’t it? Hysteria? He giggled and pressed his palms to his cheeks. 

“What are you doing?”

The deep voice made Michael jump and shrink into the bed. Vagabond was standing over him, but he didn’t look particularly angry, just blank faced once again. But it was hard to tell with the man. Something about the paint made him much harder to read than others.

“S-sorry!” Michael whimpered, hands shaking, “I-I didn’t-I’m sorry!”

“Why are you in my bed?” Vagabond rephrased.

Michael covered his face and groaned. Of course it was his. Of the thousands of bedrooms in the house, of course this one was his. Vagabond let out an annoyed grunt and Michael peeked through his fingers at him. He was glaring again, the only expression his face seemed to make.

“Well?” He demanded, crossing his arms, “Are you just going to lay there all day??”

Michael jumped to attention, sitting up straight and going for Vagabond’s belt. Impatience was always bad for Michael, he had to quickly comply or he’d end up getting hurt. Vagabond growled and grabbed his hands, pushing them away.

“Will you stop doing that?!”

Michael flinched and dropped his hands. Oh, he wasn’t permitted to touch, he thought. Ah, Michael knew this part and closed his eyes. His mouth popped open of it’s own accord and he waited. A moment passed silently and he pried his eyes open to look at the other man. Was he doing something wrong?

Vagabond was shaking, his face contorted in a pained scowl. He had one hand pressed over his mouth. Michael’s eyes opened wider and he looked at Vagabond expectantly. What was he waiting for? Michael wondered. This wasn’t a guessing game was it? Michael was bad at those. Vagabond dropped his hand, squeezing it into a fist. Michael’s followed it warily as Vagabond pressed it to his stomach.

“Get out,” the assassin finally whispered, his voice deathly quiet.

Michael shivered at the voice and his mouth slowly closed.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “What did I do wr-?”

“Get out!” Vagabond repeated, this time in a shout that startled Michael.

He jumped and hurried away, sparing a quick glance at the other man before he slipped through the door way. He paused outside the door. Sometimes he was called back in pretty quickly, so he waited, his hands trembling. He didn’t understand, but he very rarely did, especially in the beginning. He was frowning at himself for waiting and took a step forward. Vagabond probably wouldn’t call him back. 

“I don’t care!”

Vagabonds snarl sounded through the door and hit Michael like a slap. He cowered, trying to will his feet to move.

“You need to take him, now!”

Vagabond was growling at his phone, Michael thought. He was trying to get someone to retrieve Michael. Michael’s knees felt weak.

“Yeah, well you’re not the one stuck with him!”

Michael’s chest hurt. Stuck with? He doesn’t like me. Does he think I’m unteachable?

_Snap, snap, snap!_

The sickening sight from his memories floated through his head. Unteachable meant worthless. Worthless meant

_Snap!_

He jumped at the sound echoed in his head. He wobbled, scrambling his away towards the kitchen. His aching feet pulsed with pain. He sat at the counter and stared at his shaking hands. He had to do something. He was going to die.


	7. Chapter 7

He didn’t try to follow the other man, it just happened. He was really trying to avoid him, hoping to postpone his death. But it seemed like every room he walked in already had Vagabond in it. So Michael used it as a learning opportunity. Maybe he could escape if he learned enough. He squashed the hope, resigning himself to just finding a way to please his new teacher. He wasn’t unteachable, he could do it.

Vagabond wasn’t nearly as strange as Michael might’ve thought before. He did wear his face paint constantly, but other than that he was pretty normal. He had a bit of a schedule, though seemed mostly unconcerned by whether he followed it or not. Every morning he went to the kitchen and made coffee. He ate a bowl of cereal or scrambled eggs. If Michael was there, he’d make extra eggs and shove them at him with a firm “eat”.

Afterwards he would sit in the living room cleaning guns. He was meticulous and precise, but Michael noted there was never anmo around for them. The assortment was different every day and they came from the massive armory in the basement. After cleaning, he’d take them there and put them away. Most of the cases were locked, the only keys being held by Vagabond.

After they were put away, he’d go to the garage. There were cars there and Vagabond worked on some of them, though Michael could hardly tell what exactly he was doing. If he noticed Michael was in the garage with him, he would consistently check his key ring where the keys to all the cars were. The tools were also mostly locked away, though some of the smaller less dangerous ones were left around. Vagabond was surprisingly sort of messy, though he made sure to leave most things in order.

After the cars, Vagabond would eat lunch. He’d make a sandwich or heat up some frozen something. If Michael was there he’d again make extra and command him to eat. Lunch time was when he stopped drinking coffee, usually finishing his last cup with his food and dumping the extra.

After lunch he would make Michael lay on the couch so he could check his wounds and change the bandages. Sometimes, if Michael was really still, they would stay like that for awhile. Vagabond would turn and face the tv, flipping it on to news with Michael’s feet still in his lap. If Michael moved too much, Vagabond would scowl and stomp away to the office or the library to work on whatever it was assassins did when not killing people. He didn’t like it when Michael followed him at those times.

At night he would suddenly disappear, apparently leaving to do something as Michael could never find him. Sometimes he spotted him coming in through the front door with groceries or other supplies, so Michael figured he was taking quick trips into town every night.

It was truly maddening how little all this information helped him. Three days went by with Michael at a loss for what to do. What did the man want? How could he please him so he wouldn’t die? Somehow he was an open yet closed book. By his actions he seemed to be very simple with basic needs and a basic schedule, but when they talked, he always seemed to be hiding something or getting angry about things Michael didn’t understand. Not to mention it was impossible to tell what he was feeling. His face was unreadable, except for his anger.

Finally, he decided, his best bet was to get back into the man’s room to try and find something. It was easy enough as the man usually didn’t lock it. Plus by 7 he was always gone, so he wouldn’t be around to hear Michael sneaking in. There had to be some form clue to tell him what the man liked. Michael held a vague hope it wouldn’t be sexual, that Vagabond was asexual and wanted something else. Michael wasn’t exactly good at anything else, but if he had the choice, he’d do his best. He hoped it wasn’t pain either, but Michael could take pain if that’s what it came to.

Michael’s heart thumped hard against his ribs as he approached the door. He’d been so mad last time Michael was there. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if he came back early? He’d probably kill him on sight if he found him there. Then again, he was probably gonna kill him anyway, so there wasn’t much of a new risk in trying. Michael took a calming breath and opened the door. He closed it softly behind him, mostly out of habit and inched into the room.

It was still and cool in the room, so quiet he could only hear the rain hitting the roof. With the windows all blocked, he hadn’t even known it was raining. He focused on the task at hand and gave a look around the room. It was rather empty, the water bed taking up the most space. To one side was a nightstand, with a lamp and a mask sitting on top. Michael brushed his fingertips over the mask, remembering how Vagabond looked when they first met. Intimidating. Strong. Ruthless.

He pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand and found very little. An assortment of OTC painkillers, three more copies of his mask, face paint, a book, a comb, and some change. Pretty standard. He pushed it closed and moved his hands to the bottom drawer. This one had a lock on it, but the key was stuck in it. Michael briefly wondered if he was being set up, this was way too easy. But if this was a test, he was already there, so he had failed. Really, there was no reason to wimp out now. He twisted the key and pulled open the drawer.

Inside was a curious collection of items. Shoelaces, knives, razors. Some stronger, definitely illegal painkillers. A bit of alcohol, even. Michael frowned at the collection, each item making less sense. Then Michael remembered Vagabond’s profession. That’s right, the silent man who kept making him eat and sleep was an _assassin_. His hands fluttered nervously. This was the murder drawer, wasn’t it? He saw a gun in as well, recognizing it as the one the woman had given him. This was definitely the murder drawer. His stomach dropped. He was going to die. _He was going to die!_

“What are you doing?!” Vagabond’s deep voice tumbled through Michael’s chest.

Michael whipped around to see the man, half naked and wet, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. _The rain had stopped._ Michael felt fear clamp his mouth shut as Vagabond ran towards him and pushed him away from the drawer. He locked it back and slammed the key on the night stand, turning back to face Michael with a scowl.

“Stay away from this drawer!” He shouted, “What the fuck were you doing?!”

Michael sat frozen, fear coursing through him.

“Speak, damnit!! What were you doing?!” He shouted, advancing on him, “Did you take anything?! Michael, answer me!”

Michael screamed in his mind. Vagabond was half-naked with no paint on. He was going to die! He couldn’t please the man, he had nothing that pleased him. Now he saw the man’s face and his body. Michael fought the way his eyes started to drift, watching water droplets trail down his strong torso. Oddly thinner than Michael expected. The towel around his waist was slipping as he moved towards Michael. Michael could see pubic hair, he swallowed. He was going to die. Suddenly Vagabond seized Michael’s t-shirt and scowled in his face. Michael whimpered pathetically. _His face is...handsome,_ Michael thought wildly. _I’m going to die._

“What. Were. You. Doing?!” He demanded through clenched teeth, “Answer!”

Michael felt weak, wishing the ground would swallow him up. The man’s face, was so normal, so handsome. He was going to die.

“I-I-I,” He sputtered breathlessly, “I j-just wanted t-to find s-someth-thing that w-would please y-y-y-“

His mouth sputtered around the word and he couldn’t finish it. Vagabond let go and leaped up like he thought Michael was going to spontaneously combust. Michael looked up. The towel had fallen and Vagabond was shaking. He wasn’t looking at Michael and his hand was pressed over his mouth again. His cock however, was definitely looking at Michael and it was stirring, seeming to be cautiously optimistic about the events unfolding.

Michael felt his shoulders relax. He understood now: Vagabond wanted him to want him. He wanted Michael to tell him he wanted it. Michael looked up to the man’s face. He looked like he was in pain and he was glaring down the wall. He was frustrated, unsure, _worried_. Michael was surprised to find the emotions on the man’s face. That was good, Michael thought, Vagabond was a mortal man, with a mortal cock. Michael’s eyes swept over the man’s naked form. Something he didn’t understand was stirring in him.

“Vagabond?” Michael called softly.

The man turned to look at him and Michael fluttered his lashes. He was frowning down at him, still looking like he didn’t know what to do.

“I want to please you,” Michael whispered sweetly, “Will you let me please you, sir?”

Michael nearly sighed with relief as Vagabond’s dick answered for him. He leaned forward and captured the head in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the slit. Vagabond stumbled backwards, crashing into the nightstand. He shoved Michael away from him as he nearly fell directly into the lamp.

“G-g-get out!” He shrieked frantically, “Get out now!”

Michael flinched.

“But I-“

“Out!” He screamed again, “Get out! Don’t come back in here! Ever!”

Michael flinched again and shuffled away. But I found the way, he thought miserably as the door slammed behind him. He heard the lock click and waited. He probably wasn’t going to call him back in, but his body had it’s habits.

~~~

Ryan shook violently under the shower head as he rubbed his shaft. His desire was so strong his fingers ached and his heart thudded hard against his chest. He pressed his eyes closed against his other arm, leaning heavily against the shower wall. Michaels eyelashes fluttered in his mind, his pink lips wrapped around his dick, his tongue-

“Fuck!”

Ryan shivered as his cum coated the wall in front of him. He slumped forward, annoyed by the hot tears welling up. Michael was the one that deserved to cry.


	8. Chapter 8

Michael purposely trailed behind Vagabond the next day, looking for an opening to try again. The man ignored him except to tell him to eat, just as he was before. Michael tried to be subtle, dropping hints in the conversation, rubbing against him for no reason. As he finished bandaging Michael’s feet, Michael rubbed his less damaged foot against his thigh and up to his crotch. He wasn’t good at it, but it was the closest he’d gotten all day. The man just pushed him away and left, seeming completely unfazed. Though without the paint, Michael could see there was something else on his face. _Sadness_. It annoyed and frustrated him to no end.

The next day Michael decided subtly was too hard and began squarely putting himself between the man’s legs, kneeling and mewling out “Please”. But again, Vagabond just pushed him away and went about his day. Michael reconsidered his approach, realizing he had mostly tried to go for blowjobs. Maybe Vagabond just wasn’t that into his mouth? Okay, so he’d try his hands then. But again, neither bluntness nor subtly worked and he decided his ass was his best chance. A lot of guys didn’t like to put it in his ass for some reason. Too gay, maybe? But Michael was determined not to die just because Vagabond was picky.

So he cooked breakfast, with no jeans, so his ass could be on display. Vagabond seemed suspicious by his sudden eagerness to cook, but sat and let Michael wiggle his ass for him.

After breakfast, as Vagabond laid his guns on the table, Michael slipped onto his lap and began cleaning the guns for him. Vagabond grunted, but let him do as he pleased. He watched carefully as Michael handled the guns, waiting for any mistake. Michael made none, he could handle guns and he had accidentally memorized Vagabond’s methods. After this, they took the guns to the armory and Michael was sure to linger on the lower shelves.

He was starting to panic a bit, his plan seemed to be not working and Vagabond seemed angry. He didn’t mind angry fucking, hell, he practically preferred it at this point. He shivered as he ducked under the hood of the car. _However_...he felt something different about Vagabond’s anger. Something about it was dangerous. He was shaking he realized and he took a calming breath. Focus on the car. He hopped up on the front bumper, wishing he was as tall as the other man as he reached deep into the engine. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling with his hands.

“Ah, ha!” He exclaimed, his wrench tapping the right piece.

He twisted, but realized he couldn’t quite reach what he needed with his bare hands. He froze up.

_Snap!_

His face ached and he felt pressure on his head. He yanked his hands free and stumbled backwards into a solid body that grabbed him, keeping him upright once again. He dropped the wrench and gasped, patting all around his head. It wasn’t there.

He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against the body holding him up. It stiffened against him and he looked up at Vagabond’s scowling, pained expression. Michael felt spark in him. He wanted him to fuck him already. He turned and fumbled with the man’s belt. Vagabond grabbed his hands and twisted him around shoving him against the car behind him. Michael’s eyes watered at the force of it, but he didn’t have time to process as he was flipped on his stomach.

He visibly relaxed, even puffing out a sigh of relief. Vagabond pressed tightly against him, laying over his back to growl in his ear. Michael felt the spark in his gut catch and his legs subconsciously spread. He started to reach for his boxers, to pull them down and speed up the process, but hot hands pinned his to the hood of the car.

“Is this what you want?!” He growled in Michael’s ear, “Do you want me to fucking hurt you?!”

“Yes!” Michael pleaded, choking on tears, “Please!”

He shook with harsh sobs as Vagabond backed away. He pulled his underwear down and spread his ass, sobbing and begging Vagabond to fuck him. But he didn’t. He pushed Michael’s hands away, covered him and then carried him to his bed. He gently brushed hair from Michael’s forehead and Michael lashed out, snatching his wrist tightly with a scowl.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” He growled, “Don’t touch me unless you’re fucking me, you sorry excuse for a man.”

Vagabond smirked at him, surprising Michael with a new expression. He looked _pleased_.

“Ok,” he said gently, as he stood, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He left the room, softly closing the door. Michael shrank into his bed and looked at the ceiling. He clenched his fists. Vagabond didn’t want his ass. He wasn’t trying to train him.

They really had rescued Michael just for the sake of helping him. He threw an arm over his face, trying to ignore the hot tears that flowed from his eyes. They thought he was someone. They wanted him to be that someone. Maybe the one he used to be. They thought he could be more than the dog now, that he could revert. _They were wrong._


	9. Chapter 9

Michael paled when he saw the envelope in Vagabond’s hand. He fell to his knees and clutched his stomach. He stared at the envelope as the man holding it came closer. He was crouched in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face, but Michael kept his eyes on the envelope. _I’m going to die._

“Th-that,” He croaked, “Wh-Where did y-you get it?”

Vagabond frowned, turning the envelope in his hands.

“This?” He questioned before answering, “It was in my mailbox.”

The walls were closing in. Michael was being crushed, his head heavy from the contraption. His eyes blurred as he stared at that lilac envelope.

“H-here?!” He gasped out, “Th-this place?!”

“What? No, my apartment,” he answered, “What’s going on?”

_His apartment?!_ Michael’s mind screeched. _That is worse than it being here!_ He had eyes on his rescuers, he was going to find them, all of them. He was shaking again, terribly. Was he having another seizure?

“He’s going to kill me,” he whispered, “Run. G-get away. H-hurry.”

“Michael?? What’re you-Michael?!”

Vagabond’s voice and face began to fade. Michael felt his insides twisting.

“I’m going to die.”

~~~

“-elling you, He was terrified!”

Vagabond’s voice was frantic.

“What do we know about this guy?”

_Gruff. Gang leader. Masters killer._

“Next to nothing. He’s...a ghost. A monster. Police can’t catch him.”

_Female. Terse, worried. The woman who gave him the gun._

“68 known killings,” Vagabond ground out, “_Known_. At least a dozen more suspected and...they’re grisly, Geoff. Nothing like me.”

“Worse than your messages?” The Leader questioned, disbelieving.

“A message from Vagabond would be a birthday invite compared to this guy,” The woman piped up, “A thank you note, even.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” The leader asked, snorting, “But I think I get the general idea. He’s bad. We weren’t prepared for this guy. But how’s he even connected to Michael?”

“He’s my teacher,” Michael whispered hoarsely from the doorway.

Vagabond was quickly at his side, hands moving around as though he wanted to help, but didn’t want to touch him. The other two shared a knowing look unseen by their friends as Michael leaned against the taller man. He puffed a sigh of relief and helped Michael to a chair. Michael leaned towards his warmth, shivering at the cold he felt. Had he been warm this whole time?

“C-coffee,” He rasped at Vagabond who zipped from the room.

His bleary eyes focused on the other two.

“N-names?” He croaked.

“I’m Geoff.”

“Jack.”

“Geoff, Jack,” he whispered, “In the end, let him kill me and get away. Drag him with you. Promise. If it comes to me or any of you.”

“Fuck that,” Geoff grumbled, “You’re the same as us, now. You’re one of us.”

Michael squinted at him through exhausted eyes.

“I’m not,” he answered, “He thinks he sees something in me, you all do. But I’m telling you, it’s not there. Even if it is, I don’t care. Let me die with some amount of dignity. Let me die on my own feet, knowing I didn’t take you with me.”

The two stared at him and he looked back feeling hollow and cold.

“Ryan...didn’t do anything to you, did he?” Jack spoke up cautiously.

“Who the fuck is Ryan?” Michael asked, dazed by the sudden change in conversation.

Jack and Geoff looked at each other and shared a snort of laughter.

“Vagabond, his real name is Ryan,” Jack laughed, barely containing her mirth, “He didn’t tell you?”

Michael stared blankly for a moment.

“No, he didn’t,” Michael answered, “And he didn’t do anything to me. I tried, but even when my mouth was on his dick, he pushed me away.”

Geoff choked on his tongue, looking embarrassed and Jack just shook her head. Michael looked down at his hands.

“It’s all I have,” He muttered, “Holes. That’s all I am. What reason do I have of continuing if even that is useless?”

The sound of a cup shattering startled Michael, causing him to flinch horribly. He dropped from his chair and bowed his head. It was easier just to take the blows.

“Oh god, he’s-“

“That’s what you think?!” Ryan yelled.

Michael blinked. Right. Master was dead. He looked at the man and cowered under his heated gaze.

“You think holes are all you are?!” He demanded.

Michael growled at him, glaring from the floor.

“Look at me, dumbass!” He cried, “Look what they did to me! I drop to the floor because I belong here now! This is what they did to me! They turned me into holes! I don’t want to be this! I didn’t ask for it! That’s just what I am now!”

The room was deathly quiet for a breath.

“Michael,” Geoff called gently, “Look down.”

Michael’s head dropped immediately and he stared down at his legs. He was...standing? His feet pulsed in pain at the way he’d planted them. His fists were clenched. He...he was in a fighting stance. He wobbled and Ryan was suddenly there offering him support. He helped him into his chair with shaking hands. He was pushing hair off his forehead again. He looked up at the man who ripped his hand back immediately.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, backing away.

He went quiet, his face blanking. He cleaned the mug he broke and brought Michael a fresh one and a blanket. He stood some distance away while Michael warmed up.

“Okay,” Michael finally said, “If you’re hell-bent on protecting me, then we need a plan so it can all go to shit.”

“Now you’re talkin!” Geoff exclaimed, clapping his hands, “Where do we start, Michael?”

Michael. Right. He did have a name. Michael. His name, his past, his skills. He...he still had them. He looked at his hands as he recalled creating the trap _and_ disabling it. He was right, he couldn’t revert, he was different now. Things had changed him. His hands clenched into fists. He was different, but he was still Michael. He grinned, looking back at Geoff.

“We start with me, of course.”

Ryan was quiet the rest of the day. He barely spoke two more words as the rest of them planned. On the one hand, Michael knew that was just how he was. But on the other, the deep voice had begun to soothe him somehow. He didn’t know when that happened and it terrified him.

~~~

“Michael.”

The deep voice was tight with emotion. Michael didn’t want to think about it.

“Yes, Ryan?”

He looked surprised by Michael using his real name, but he recovered quickly.

“May I kiss you?” He asked.

His hard eyes stared at Michael with something akin to fear. He was scared, Michael realized. Scared they wouldn’t win, that at least Michael would die. Michael was scared too. Not of death, but of what his teacher may do before he killed him. He was suddenly overcome with desire to have someone of his own choice, to have Ryan specifically, in his bed, in his heart. He pushed back the covers and beckoned Ryan. Ryan looked like he knew it was a terrible idea, but he slipped over Michael and pressed close him.

“If I need to stop,” He muttered over Michael’s lips, “You stop me.”

“Yes.”

Michael shook as Ryan’s lips pressed to his. He shook as he pushed his hands up Ryan’s shirt and as he pressed him closer. As Ryan bit his bottom lip, as he pressed bites and kisses down his neck, as he pulled Michael up to pull his shirt off, as Michael impatiently reciprocated, nearly whacking Ryan in the jaw as he frantically yanked up the fabric. As Ryan’s own shaking hands tugged, practically ripped at his pajama pants. As Ryan jumped up, hurrying to remove the rest of their clothing. As their bodies pushed, as their hands scrambled, as Ryan pressed shaking, slick fingers to his asshole.

“It’s okay,” He whispered at Ryan’s hesitation, “H-hurry, please.”

Ryan pressed his forehead against Michael’s thigh, puffing out shaky breaths. He pressed gentle kisses up his thigh and cock. When his fingers pressed inside, he wrapped his lips around his dick and swallowed him down. Michael’s legs squeezed against his head and he gripped his sandy hair. Seconds that passed like minutes turned to minutes that passed like hours as Ryan stretched him out with his head bobbing. Michael trembled and shook and groaned and panted until finally he was ready.

“R-Ryan!” He gasped, “H-hurry!”

Ryan was quick, leaning over Michael, pushing up against the backs of his thighs. He was panting and shaking as well, something about this relaxed Michael as he nodded him forward. Ryan leaned over him and pressed his lips to his ear.

“U-um, is this o-okay?” He whispered.

“Yess, it’s more than ok!” Michael groaned, “Hurry! Please!”

Ryan shuddered and his hand reached between them.

“W-wait!” Michael cried suddenly, “C-c-condom?”

Ryan shifted, leaning over to the nightstand and fumbling for a moment before returning his hand to between them. Michael puffed a sigh of relief and nodded the go ahead. Ryan pushed forward carefully, hissing through his teeth. As soon as he was to the hilt he pressed his hands on either side of Michael’s head and let out a breathy moan. He pressed his face into the side of Michael’s neck and pressed tiny, fluttery kisses to his skin. He rolled his hips and Michael moaned into his ear, sending tremors through his body. He rolled again and Michael’s mouth popped open, the most beautiful, obscene words tumbling out.

“R-Ryan! F-faster! Hurry! Fuck, please! Ryan, fuck me! Please, I can’t wait any more! Hurry! Hurry! Ryan, please, you feel so good! Please fuck me faster! Ple-“

He was cut off by another roll and Ryan’s cock brushed a forbidden place inside him. He moaned something that sounded like “Ryan” and his babbling started up again.

“Y-Yes, there! Harder! Ryan, there!”

Ryan groaned at Michael’s needy voice and began pulling back to thrust properly. He felt Michael scratching his back and shivered at the pain. He pulsed in Michael who babbled slutty pleadings, gasping around his own cries. Unwilling to silence him, Ryan pressed kisses and bites along his neck and shoulder. He grunted as Michael squeezed around him and grabbed the sheet tightly in both hands. His pace was brutal and Michael lost himself in his ramblings as he felt his lower half tensing in anticipation. His mind fogged over, being replaced with Ryan’s name in big, flashing red letters. Ryan whispered Michael’s name, reminding him he had one, even when he was getting fucked. He choked on tears that he squeezed his eyes against. He prayed Ryan wouldn’t stop for the tears, the pain, or anything, until they were done. He pleaded tearfully with him to never stop and Ryan whispered back promises he couldn’t hear.


	10. Chapter 10

Michael stumbled on the gravel, falling to one knee and nearly face-planting. He whipped his head around behind him, checking for someone following. His breath came out in panicky puffs. He struggled to his feet again, muttering directions as he tried to run down the gravel road. His bare feet throbbed worse than ever as the gravel bit into his wounds. He made it to an intersection and froze. Three paths.

“F-fuck!” He muttered, “Wh-which-?”

He stared at the roads with wide eyes and sank to his knees. He sobbed into his hands.

“It’s hopeless!” He howled, furiously rubbing at his eyes, “I’m never gonna get away!”

He felt like a lost little kid, bawling for their parent. Gravel moved behind him and he flinched, twisting and throwing his hands up defensively.

“V-vagabond, I’m s-sorry!” He cried, “Pl-please!”

He shook as they stepped forward and he chanced a peek at their silence. His eyes widened and he scrambled forward throwing himself at their feet with a cry.

“T-teacher!” He sobbed, “I-I don’t e-even c-care If you’re not-not real!”

He crouched down in front of Michael and tilted his chin up to drink in Michael’s tear-stained face. Michael stared with an open mouth.

“A-are you real?” He whispered tearfully.

“Yes, my pet,” teacher purred, “I’ve come to save you.”

Michael sniffed loudly and rubbed his eyes.

“R-really?” He whimpered, “You came f-for me?”

Teacher smiled a sick, pleased smile.

“Yes, my pet, I’ve been quite worried,” he said, gripping Michael’s chin, “After the death of my brother and your disappearance.”

Michael froze and more tears welled up in his eyes.

“Th-they!” He cried, sobs shaking his body, “They killed him! They k-killed master!”

“Yes, I know,” teacher assured him, “And dragged you away, taking you so far from home.”

Michael’s chin trembled, his eyes full of tears. Teacher turned his head side to side, inspecting his face.

“They took your trap and your collar, dear me,” he tsked, “They even took your chip.”

Michael looked confused.

“M-my chip?” He asked, frowning, “What’s that?”

“We had a chip in your foot, pet,” his teacher explained, “To track you if you ever got lost.”

Michael’s eyes brightened and he smiled sheepishly.

“You cared that much?” He whispered shyly.

“Of course, you were ours,” teacher answered, “Of course we wanted to protect you.”

Michael grinned happily, but then covered his mouth.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, his face red, “I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m so happy!”

Teacher pet his cheek almost sweetly.

“It’s okay, pet,” teacher assured him, “You can be happy even when the sky is falling.”

Michael giggled behind his hands, but then his face paled. He cowered behind teachers form, shaking and gripping at his jacket. Teacher seemed amused by it and gently lifted him to stand. The gravel shifted as Vagabond stepped towards them. Michael steadied his breathing and looked up at teacher.

“I-it’s okay,” he mumbled, shakily, “He j-just wants me. Y-you...i-i don’t want you to die too!”

Teacher smiled at him and sent a right hook across his face.

“You don’t make decisions, pet,” teacher reminded him.

Michael set his jaw and nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, “Whatever you say, I trust you.”

“Good boy,” teacher purred, pulling Michael’s hands from his shirt and turning to face Vagabond, “Well, is this the man trying to show my pet a good time?”

Michael whimpered from behind him, peeking around his elbow. Vagabond was only staring at the pair, as still and as quiet as death.

“Rather skinny and frail looking for such a fearsome man,” teacher scoffed, “I suppose you prey on the pet because he’s weak? Hardly an honorable gesture. Is this truly the fierce Vagabond? Able to clear a room in seconds?”

Vagabond’s head tilted as if asking a question, eyes landing on Michael. Michael squeaked and ducked behind teacher. Teacher and Vagabond squared off silently for a moment before Vagabond’s head bowed.

“Smart man,” teacher praised, “Perhaps I’ll be lenient.”

He tapped his ear piece.

“Helicopter on me.”

Michael cowered behind teacher as the helicopter landed. A man emerged and hastened to Vagabond.

“On your knees, now!” The man shouted over the helicopters rotating blades.

Vagabond did so, hands up in surrender. Michael peeked around again, watching as Vagabond was zip-tied. He looked up at teacher.

“I-is it safe?” He asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes, pet, you’re safe,” he assured, “Now will you be a good boy and drink this for me?”

He held an expensive looking vial out for Michael, who took it and drank it with no hesitation. He beamed at teacher, even as the liquid burned down his throat. Teacher hummed in a pleased way as Michael’s legs went weak. Teacher waved one of his men over and Michael was lifted into a car. He waved for the man to take Vagabond into the helicopter and slid smoothly into the car. The helicopter, the car, and the armed escorts took off, carrying Michael and Vagabond to a supposedly unknown location.

~~~

When Michael awoke, some hours later, he saw teachers face in front of him, but someone else was behind him. He frowned and looked back to a nameless, faceless man. He turned panicked eyes to teacher who smiled reassuringly. He smiled softly back and relaxed, staring into teachers eyes.

“Such a good boy,” teacher praised, “You’ve become such a good boy.”

Michael grinned under his teachers praise even as the man came inside him. Five, more, ten more. He was exhausted, but he still smiled at his teacher between exhausted gasps.

~~~

Vagabond grunted as another fist landed, smearing the face paint. What was it now, five, ten? Blood and paint mixed, as exhausted grunts left the captive.

~~~

Michael’s eyes were crying of their own accord, but between sobs he smiled at his teacher. He could take every one of the cocks rammed into him, that was easy. Teacher brushed tears from his face.

“What is it, pet? Are you in pain?”

“N-no!” Michael weakly protested, “I...I just...”

His face went red and he looked away sheepishly.

“I just wish it were you,” he admitted quietly.

His eyes looked back up at his teacher, guilt quite apparent.

“B-But I’ll do it!” He amended quickly, though his voice cracked “Wh-whatever you want, teacher!”

His teacher stood, grabbing hold of Michael’s hair and yanking backwards. Michael’s mouth popped open instinctively and teacher forced his hard dick inside. Michael moaned around it, eyes fluttering. Finally, after many minutes of being fucked, Michael swallowed and teacher backed away.

“I’m your master now, pet,” teacher whispered dangerously in his ear.

“Yes, master!” Michael croaked happily.

Seconds later, freezing water rocketed up his ass, causing him to yelp. After they’d cleaned the gallons of cum out, they left him. He puffed out exhausted breaths as he heard the door close. His eyes flicked back open, darted around the room and closed again in a mere second.

One guard. No cameras. Perfect. He huffed out a frustrated moan, his hands gripping his shackles. His hips thrust against the breeding bench and he panted pathetically. The tiniest crack of his eyelids showed him the guard was paying attention.

“Unh! S-so empty!” He whimpered, thrusting back and forth, “P-please one more!”

The guard was shifting by the sound of it and Michael shuddered against the bench, moaning.

“J-Just one more!” He pleaded, “Then I-I’ll be quiet!”

The guard shuffled over, whispering shushing sounds. Michael cracked his eyes opened.

“Oooh,” he whispered, “You’re handsome. W-why are you here?”

The guard was blushing, looking confused.

“You look so much b-better than the others!” Michael simpered, fluttering his eyelashes, “Pl-please! Please let me put y-you in my mouth!”

The guard was sputtering. Michael opened his mouth, letting drool drip from it. The man clamped onto the bait and Michael clamped onto him. _Hooked_. He moaned around the man’s less than impressive cock as his eyes darted around for the key. Jingle, jingle. The key bounced around his hip, just close enough to grab. Michael pushed closer to the man, taking his full length. _Reel him in_. The man was stuttering and Michael had the key. _Caught_.

He carefully turned it, pressed it to the lock and twisted. Bingo. He flipped his eyes up to ensure the man had his closed and slipped the key to his other hand. With both hands free, he smirked and chomped down. Before the man could howl, Michael’s hand covered his mouth and his own gun was pointed at him. He was shuddering, eyes wide and terrified. _Weak_. Michael spat his manhood at his feet.

“Let’s make a deal, handsome,” he said, grinning wolfishly.

~~~

“Are you willing to tell us where your friends are now, freak?”

Vagabond spat a wad of blood and saliva in his face. Another blow landed, but only laughter answered the deliverer.

~~~

The man hobbled away, mostly grateful he made the deal. Michael shook the hidden package free of his sleeve and propped it up the best he could. The shitty lighter took several tries to work, but the thing eventually lit. He grinned as the fuse burned and jogged back inside, leaving the fireworks to do their business while he ducked around a corner. He pulled free the explosives and quickly assembled them. _Get a move on_, he thought, picking up his pace.

~~~

“That’s the signal. Michael’s free. Take ‘er down.”

~~~

Vagabond grinned as the shrill sound of fireworks went off.

The “interrogators” were too busy distracted with the fireworks to notice the zip tie fall to the floor. A vicious kick to the groin dropped one and a punch to the throat dropped the second. Vagabond tsked as the third leveled his gun. Vagabond pulled the pin on the grenade and pressed it into his hands.

“Wh-Where??” The man sputtered.

Vagabond wagged a finger at him and winked, nabbing his gun and running out the door.

~~~

Three, four. 

Michael stuck the fourth on the back side of the boiler. His eyes flicked around. He could hear the distant sounds of people running, shuffling. That seemed to bode well. Was the plan coming together? He grinned, running to the fifth point. He’d never smoked a cigar, maybe tonight would be the first.

~~~

“H-how did y-you get free??” A guard stuttered.

Vagabond advanced silently, menacing. The guard dropped his weapon and put his hands up.

“I-I s-surrender!” He cried.

Vagabond plucked the gun from the ground. Sometimes reputation was everything.

~~~

Michael panted, exhausted as he ran through the building.

“Last one,” he huffed.

He pressed the thing to the underside of the shelf and sighed with relief. He was shaking, but satisfied. Now all he needed was to f-

“Tsk, tsk, my pet,” a cold voice interrupted his thoughts.

He shivered. He wasn’t sure he could act his way through this. Thankfully, he was standing already, which meant the explosive was probably safe. He turned to his teacher, eyes wide.

“Now what are you up to?” He asked.

“D-Didn’t you h-hear??” Michael whispered, glancing around, “H-he got loose!! H-h-He’s gonna come f-find me!!”

He ducked down, frantically looking this way and that. His teacher shook his head and clicked his tongue. _No go, then. _Michael thought.

“Why is your mouth covered in blood, pet?”

Michael flashed a wide grin at him to show off just how much blood was there.

“I bit someone’s cock off,” he laughed.

His teacher stepped forward and Michael felt that cold, dark fear that only this man could elicit. Before Michael could decide if he was strong enough to fight it, the man whistled. Michael cowered, dropping the rest of the way to his knees.

“You know, Pavlov had quite the right idea,” his teacher commented coolly, “But he needed a lot more than the idea to make it effective.”

Michael’s head pounded as the teacher stepped nearer. He wanted to fight, he wanted to run, but he was forced to kneel, bow before his teacher. _Come on!_ He urged himself, _the gun is right there!_ Stashed within range, yet he couldn’t even look at it. Teacher whistled again and Michael’s head wrenched upwards. Hot tears welled up as he glared at him. _All this progress_, he thought miserably, _now I’m back here_. Cold fear gripped his insides. His teacher sneered at him, bending to speak close to Michael’s face.

“You know, you are one of my greatest accomplishments,” he said, gripping his face in one hand, “Took all that anger in you, all that fire.”

He grinned like a predator.

“And turned it to fear,” he finished, “And what did I get? Submission. Utter submission.”

He turned his face roughly left and right with a satisfied sort of smirk.

“And now you do as I say,” he muttered darkly, “And now I say bark.”

Michael struggled, trying to squash the bark that bubbled in his throat. The teacher squeezed his face harder.

“Bark, dog!” He spat.

_Dog?_

“Have you lost your mind, dog?!”

_Dog?_

“I said bark, dog!”

_Dog._

“No,” Michael whispered fiercely, even as the hot tears ran down his face, “My name is Michael.”

“Excuse me?!” The teacher squawked, “What did you just say to me, dog?!”

His hand reeled back and flew, but Michael caught it before it could land. He stood, hand tightening on the man’s wrist.

“I said, my name is Michael,” he growled.

The man’s eyes suddenly seemed less cold, less piercing. He was afraid, shaking, and pale.

“Weak,” Michael bit out.

Then his head collided with the man’s, knocking him flat.

“And you’re ugly,” he muttered, retrieving his stolen gun and stepping around the man’s unconscious body.

~~~

“D-did you s-see him?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jim!”

“H-he t-teleports!”

“Jim! You’re too loud! Shut the fuck up!”

“He i-isn’t m-mortal!!”

The third, silent guard knocked the stuttering one out with a swing to the head. The angry one looked around in surprise, his eyes going wide. Vagabond grinned and winked.

“Oh, fuc-“

Vagabond gave him the universal “shh” gesture before knocking him out the same as the first, grinning.

~~~

Michael rushed through the building, taking the twists and turns with ease. He knew the layout better than anyone, including his captors. To meet up, he needed to make it to the catwalks nearest the interrogation rooms. This was simple enough, though his exhaustion and pain were beginning to hinder his progress. Not to mention he noticed he was leaving a very unfortunate trail of blood as he went.

As soon as someone found their boss, they had a straight trail to him, so he needed out of there quick. He rounded a corner, faced with five grim looking guards. He slid to a stop and panted, leaning down a bit, trying to catch his breath. He put his gun hand against his leg, gasping. 

“Howdy, boys,” he said, giving a weak wave, breathlessly, “Don’t suppose you’d rather fuck me than shoot me?”

They glared at him.

“I take dicks better than bullets,” he joked, giving them a grin, “But I think some of you know that already.”

He fired a shot in the face of the one with the biggest gun, then dropped and rolled behind a shelf as they started shooting. He slipped under it before they could turn the corner, shimmied over to the next row and jumped up. He sucked in one breath and started scaling up the shelf as quickly and as quietly has he could with his throbbing feet. He paused at the top, sucking in grateful gasps as he watched the guards fanning out below. _Idiots_. He crawled across the top of the shelf, shifting the layout of the place upwards and cursing the morons running around below him.

~~~

Vagabond tapped the watch on the dead guards wrist. Time was running out. Not that anyone would consider leaving anyone else behind, but schedules were important. Didn’t want to miss a date.

~~~

Michael’s throat burned, no doubt with the strain on his body and the dicks that had been in it. He knew as soon as he was safe he was going to faint. He scrambled across the catwalks, no longer caring that they shook and creaked, displaying his position to the whole place. Around another corner and-

~~~

Michael’s pounding feet were heard long before he came in eye range. The sound of bullets followed the boy around the corner and Vagabond grinned.

~~~

_Yes!_ Michael cried in his head, the welcome sight of Vagabond’s face paint coming into view. They spoke no words as they scrambled up the shaky ladder, across the last catwalk, and to the roof access door. Michael grabbed the handle and pushed. The door shook, but wouldn’t open. He panted, checking the lock. Unlocked. _Shit_. He slammed against the door, barely budging it. He was quickly pushed aside and a heavily booted foot went through the door, causing it to burst open. Michael rolled his eyes and started forward, only to be stopped by pain slicing through his side. _Shit fuck_. He hobbled through the door, seizing the strong arm next to him for support.

_Just a bullet_, he reasoned as they shuffled towards the helicopter. He could take a bullet, it was fine. He swore under his breath and gritted his teeth, _it was fine_. As they neared it became apparent something went wrong. There was a familiar shape stood between them and freedom.

“How the fuck did you even?” Michael panted as they drew closer.

“I didn’t take 34 cocks in my ass today,” The man reminded, his voice cold as steel, “I think I’m a bit faster, _dog_.”

“That’ll do it,” Michael conceded.

The strong arm he was leaning on suddenly pushed him backwards, placing their body between Michael and the gun.

“Stand aside, Vagabond,” The man commanded, “He doesn’t belong to you.”

“You’re right,” Geoff’s voice cut coldly through the air, “He belongs to no one.”

Michael blinked, searching for the source. Vagabond stepped free of the shadows, aiming a gun at the man’s head. The man frowned in confusion. The two Vagabonds in front of him caused him to blink heavily, but he kept his gun steady and laughed.

“That explains so much,” he laughed, “The legend of Vagabond obviously couldn’t just be one mortal man.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” a cold voice drifted through the air again.

The man watched in horror as a third Vagabond appeared.

“Actually, it is one man,” Ryan’s deep voice corrected, “This time around we needed a few more hands is all.”

A cold, humorless grin spread on his face as he stepped forward. The man belted out a laugh.

“So What is this then??” He demanded, “Some game?? A twisted show for a psychopath?”

“It’s a message,” the three Vagabonds answered together.

Jack pushed Michael down as a knife and a bullet whizzed towards the man. He fired two shots before the bullet hit his hip and the knife hit his eye. He shrieked in pain and fell to his knees. The crew walked around his pathetic cries as they hopped aboard the helicopter. Geoff fired another bullet into his foot as he passed.

”_In case you get lost_,” he mocked.

They climbed in, Michael huffing and puffing as blood seeped through his fingers. Ryan pressed his hand over Michael’s helping him keep pressure on the wound. He pushed the control switch into Michael’s free hand as they took off. Michael grinned, relaxing against him. _Just a bit longer_, he urged his aching body. As the helicopter pulled out of range, Michael’s grin got impossibly larger. 

“Fire in the hole!” He shouted, squeezing the button.

As his former prison went up in flames and destruction, he laughed. Finally. He slumped against Ryan, his vision fading fast.

“Let’s play again,” he muttered, drifting off.

Three painted faces grinned at their newest member.

“Let’s play,” Geoff chuckled, “Has a nice ring to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for tuning in! I’ll see you for the next tragic backstory of the Fake AH. ;)


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